


repetition (and things unsaid)

by perrstein



Series: I used to weave crowns [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7460832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perrstein/pseuds/perrstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick stop gets a little messier than expected, and Isabela is still bad at saying (and thinking) what she really means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	repetition (and things unsaid)

**Author's Note:**

> After the Act 3 finale, Isabela and Bethany were drawn back to each other. After all, Bethany had a group to protect and Isabela needed a crew, and they had obviously unfinished business between them, if the bandana still around Isabela's bicep was anything to go by. Time passed, and they fell into a rhythm together, and helped where they could.
> 
> s/o to the bae, for finally playing DA2 and sinking directly into this tiny ship with me, and to tumblr user randomthingsthatilike, for looking this over and dealing with my general shenanigans even though she definitely doesn't go here.

The thing about sailing that most people don’t appreciate is how _small_ the sea can make life look. The seas are indiscriminate of all things about everyone's lives. They’re untamed, wild, and will treat you however it deems fit the entire time you’re in its domain. Even with that hard learned knowledge, Isabela has learned the seas are a lot fucking kinder than people. It never pretends to be anything other than what it is; never cruel enough to pass someone around like a party favor, or sell a life like a vendor would a trinket. Stealing though, now _that_ was something else _entirely_ different. And open water will steal as it sees fit.  

 

After all, there’s an honesty to stealing.

 

Whether that’s an _artistic_ honesty depends on the thief, and what they decided to take. Sure, stealing the life of a slaver or the coin of the corrupt has all the blasted nobility that Hawke would always drag them towards, but she certainly could add her own stylized touch to it if she was going to be dragged everywhere for the sake of _nobility_. Admitting this tends to take the wind right out of her sails more often than not, but even a shipwreck in a storm, with all its lives lost, had a raw and burning beauty to it as she swam away. Faced with her own hypocrisy--and the blades of a gang who can't tell when they’re out of their depths--it’s easier to push those lingering thought aside when she’s got a partner by her side and a crew of baby apostates she needs to defend.

 

“Is there any chance you gentlemen value your lives over some reward you’re unlikely to receive?” Bethany asked, letting her hand drift to her waist, casual as when she asked Isabela how she wanted her tea that morning, moving just far enough to become more dangerous than all of them on that street. “Templars _are_ splitting from the Chantry and haven’t got the funds to throw money at people any longer. And even if they did pay out, it wouldn’t amount to much after splitting it among you all.”

 

The lot of them must have been particularly untrained, because Bethany’s words alone were enough to distract and fracture them. Isabela would have to remember to kiss her for it later, but that has to be a dirty thought for another time. As soon as she catches Bethany’s eyes, they both _move_. Vanishing within the smoke bomb she dropped, Isabela’s daggers found purchase in the necks of those foolish enough to be on the fringe of the group. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bethany pull the blade of her staff out of a man’s guts and spin it _just right_ , causing blood to spray on her face as violent ice spikes impaled the fighters closest to her.

 

Without a single one of their opponents possessing anything even relatively close to quality gear, the death toll was already up to nine. There wasn’t even so much as a scratch on herself or-- _Maker’s balls_. With a push that made reality feel like it was dripping away at the edges, Isabela twisted herself between Bethany and the punk on her right who was in the middle of a swing. Snarling, Isabela blocked his axe, her blade digging into the handle and jammed her other dagger into his eye to preempt his shield coming around.

 

Life flickered out of him before he could realize how much pain he would have been in, and she pressed her lips together and closed her eyes as she shoved his body off her blade. Blowing a raspberry to get the excess blood off her lips, she turned her gaze back to the deserted street. The three left alive were scurrying away in fear, and she was less than impressed. “What did I tell you about that blind spot, sweetness?”

 

Crouching down, Isabela wiped off her blades on the dead man’s trousers before cutting off a cleaner bit of his exposed  tunic to wipe away the blood dripping down her face. There, now she could see well enough to steal from his corpse the same way she stole his life. _Plenty of honesty in this kill,_ she mused, _but the lack of finesse would leave Zevran disappointed_. Again, _hypocrite_. Twice in one fight is more than excessive for her, but thinking what she really means has rarely been worth the trouble.

 

Bethany’s soft laughter filled the spaces between them and the corpses littering the bland Highever streets; part of Isabela _ached_ for when it was an easy matter to coax out enough undignified laughter to make her snort. Bethany ran a hand across her own face, from cheek to ear to push her hair back, uncaring of the blood she was smudging. Isabela was lost to that small gesture. “Something about hair only being worth it if I’m alive to show it off. There was some distraction or another that was more important, if I remember right; lacy underthings and your new hat.” Her crooked smile relit that heat twisting low in Isabela’s belly, and everything seemed sharper than before.

 

As regal as Bethany normally seems, seeing her after a fight, blood smudged and thrumming with magic, was more than motivation to feel positively flushed and a-flutter in her boots. She watched something shift in Bethany’s eyes, wilder than they were since the night before. It felt damn near poetic to be kneeling, as if in supplication, baring her throat to the barely contained, otherworldly gathering storm that’s Bethany riding a battle high. She looks absolutely divine with that flushed _glow_ , the kind she normally has after Isabela had a few drinks to numb her ego after getting her head knocked in a fight.

 

 _‘Too many years in the Circle made me lose my farmer’s tan’_ is what Bethany always says, indulgent of her drunken ramblings as she lets some healing magic leak from her fingers while combing through Isabela’s hair after half carrying her to bed. _‘It’s just another thing I lost in Kirkwall.’_

 

Rising from the hard press of the cobblestone street, Isabela let herself move closer, as if she’s being tugged in by the gravity Bethany can manipulate with ease; she's drawn in by this storm of an apostate she’s become so eager to break herself against for _years_ now. They’re as constant as the sea and the shore meeting with every wave. She rests a hand against Bethany’s thin cheek as her arms clutched at Isabela’s shoulders. Kissing Bethany feels like reading love letters from a gently rocking cabin and spiced rum on a cold day; she wanted nothing more than to submerge herself in it, but they've been anchored to each other long enough that Isabela knows when not to rush. Eyelashes fluttering gently as she pulled back, Bethany leans into her palm like it was a safe harbor. It’s a small moment Isabela wants to steal for herself, and tuck it between the ribs her own heart beat wildly against to keep it hidden for foul weathered days.

 

The false calm of the moment shatters when Isabela runs her thumb from Bethany’s high cheekbone to her full lips, and Bethany surges against her. Isabela’s breath catches at the press of a mouth desperate for more. The high of a bloody fight won and Bethany’s body pressing against her own was almost enough to make her throw caution to the wind and back them into a side alley and drown in the beautiful, brilliant, deadly squall that Bethany _is_ with every beat of that bleeding heart. Hands heavy on her back and tugging in her hair, Isabela was more than eager to sink into her for long enough that even the ground at their feet started to seem like a good idea.

 

Enough time passed that even the salted breeze couldn’t disperse the heavy scent of copper and waste. Isabela accidentally drew blood while repaying an over-enthusiastic nip when every part of her shifted to hyper alertness. Giddy and reckless, she pulls away from Bethany like a sharp crack of lightning, her dagger drawn and pointed at the shadows. “Show yourself, or forfeit your coin to keep your life,” Isabela announced. Bethany blinked owlishly as she grasped her staff tightly in that gloriously callused palm of hers, at the ready even after being delightfully ravaged, if Isabela did say so herself.

 

One barely adult and two mostly children nervously edged forward, skittish enough that they looked uncomfortable out of the shadows. Only the most worn down of the lot managed to look her in the eyes, while the other two were _incredibly_ focused on not catching the edges of their feet on cobblestone or her eyes. They'd probably seen more than they bargained for while lurking, and it was almost amusing. “We were told to go to the meeting place but no one showed....so we came looking closer to the docks.”

 

She could hear Bethany’s breath whoosh out in a controlled flow, and she sighed. _People_ may not be kind, but Bethany had a well of kindness that ran deep, and it only stopped up for _incredibly_ particular reasons. Time to get back to that heart of gold business Hawke always teased her about whenever they brought more of the running and scared their way. With a closer look, she could spot the youngest as an elf, and they all had bruises littering their dark skin. Her thoughts turned grim with weighted memories.

 

With the clap of her hands, Bethany left no room for argument in her gentleness. “Right then, follow me. I’m sure you’re all looking forward to feeling safe, and I think the Captain had some things she wanted to finish up in town before we go.” Her voice sounded hoarser than Isabela’s heard it outside the bedroom since the battle they reunited, and she heard the lanky, middle one snicker. Bethany shepherded the children away from the carnage they left strewn about. She watches them vanish into an alley, and wasn’t fool enough to miss the weighted look Bethany tossed over her shoulder while ushering the kids to safety.

  
Pressing two fingers to her lips and indulging in a brief shiver, she focuses in on her tasks again. There were bodies to loot and supplies to confirm.The sooner she sees to them, the sooner she’ll be able to lose herself in the riptide that is Bethany Hawke in open waters. If moments can truly be stolen, Isabela can’t help her grin at stealing so many while at the mercy of such a careless mistress. That kind of repeated theft takes steady hands and an artistry she’s learned, along with a desire that’s continued to scorch the ground every time she touches down on land.

**Author's Note:**

> Bethany took some damage in the heat of that last DA2 battle, and doesn't have full vision in her right eye. Also yo wouldn't Bethany be scary as shit after training regularly with Isabela for years? She's already an elemental jedi mage, so what the fuck.
> 
> Isabela is still kind of bad at admitting things to herself, but it's cool tho, Bethany knows how she feels and where they stand from everything Isabela does.
> 
> if you like what you see here, consider popping over to say hi on my tumblr! (gaynervousdog.tumblr.com)


End file.
